Dangerously Sexy Stories By Evanne Lorraine

When she's not writing another dangerously sexy story then Evanne Lorraine is gardening,walking the dog, or sleeping.

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Reading Report - The Bejeweled Bride

Harlequin Presents - The Bejeweled Bride by Lee Wilkinson

First an explanation – while planning and plotting the book I wanted to write for NaNoWriMo I had a revelation. The plot morphed from a Blaze concept into a classic Presents setup all by itself.

Well alright, I was touching the keyboard at the time, but it was an Ouija board sort of experience. I’ve enjoyed Michelle Reid, Kate Walker and the other lovely Presents authors now and then over the years, always carefully and a little guiltily. Sort of in the same class as sneaking a particularly decadent chocolate treat – delicious but not what I’m supposed to be eating.

Perhaps I am really a Presents kind of writer? I never saw it coming, but I’ll be the first to admit that I’m frequently clueless about the workings of my own mind. Deciding not to fight this particular twist of fate I plotted away on my new story. On my next trip to the grocery store I veered by the paperback section and tucked two Presents stories in between the eggs and the bananas.

I meant to just check tone, but that’s like taking just a nibble of that Italian dark chocolate truffle . . . I’m not even going to try to rate the book – you’re either in the mood for dark chocolate or not. . .

Monday, October 30, 2006

Writing life

Well, what would you call work you don’t get paid for? Volunteering? It’s technically accurate, but misleading. A hobby? Please – I’d pick something relaxing or amusing for a pastime.

I have two main occupations. Taking care of home and family has never commanded much respect as a career choice. Writing sounds like a lovely glamorous profession when it involved royalties, agents and book tours. Unpaid writing is what? A waste of time? Neurotic obsession? Advocation? All depends on the results.

Was he serious? Everyone had feelings. The lust devil whispered in her ear, taunting her about feelings she could provoke. Bella shook her head to clear the bad thoughts. She hurried ahead denying herself the comfort of his touch.

Cheeks flaming, she sidled into the women’s restroom without a backward glance. Using cold water and papertowels, she made a disposable compress and sank onto a tufted velvet stool. Deliberately, she applied the cool wet paper her cheeks, neck and cleavage. Anger, embarrassment and even confusion all had the same effect – a blazing flush of her cursed fair skin. Slowly, the hectic color faded.

Bella averted her eyes from the mirror, suddenly weary and sickened by her behavior. She’d liked Derrick’s kiss. More than she should.

She told herself she wouldn’t like being used and abandoned. She told herself she didn’t want passion. She told herself she didn’t want him.

She wanted normal and boring, her small house and peace. She did not want the brief attentions of Mr. Dark and Dangerous, which would leave her tidy life in tatters. He was fascinating, but so were tigers and you didn’t bring one of those home and expect to find the furniture intact the next day.

No matter what she told herself, she couldn’t erase the kiss from her mind.

A rustle of feminine voices from hall spurred Bella into a stall. She wasn’t ready to make polite conversation. Her skin flared with fresh heat. She’d trapped herself – an unwilling audience to two women who’d come in together.

“I thought you and Derrick had a thing,” the first woman said with languid rancor.

“What Derrick and I have is much more than a thing,” the second woman was predictably

defensive. Her delivery cool, with a dash of pique. Her speech patterns polished into bland perfection by exclusive schools.

Of course, Derrick had a girlfriend. Disappointment she had no business feeling settled over Bella cooling her heated cheeks faster than ice cubes.

“He seems to have a new playmate.” The first woman spoke again, deliberately poking the sore spot.

“I’m not worried. She’s a little obvious for him.”

Obvious stung, but Bella listened – sinfully eager to hear more.

“Really Tori? Then the men here go for the obvious type. Derrick’s new friend is turning every male head at the party.”

Poor Tori. With a friend like that, she needed a Lycra powered ego.

“She’s nothing, a new face, a five-minute fad. She’s not going to appeal to Derrick when I tell him what she was doing with the busboy.”

“What was she doing?”

The dab of sympathy Bella had felt for Tori fled.

“Nothing really, well nothing, that I actually saw, but she looks like the type who’d always be doing something with some man. Anyway, she’s too fat for Derrick.”

“You’re cold. Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“You know what they say, alls fair in love and war. Getting Derrick to the altar may take a little of both.” Tori laughed. Even her laugh sounded expensive, like crystal goblets clinking.Derrick’s girlfriend.

Bella hated her.

She edged out of the stall – chin leading.

Caught up in her rant, Tori didn’t notice her. “That low rent Mercedes is behind this whole sordid affair. I can see her dainty little fingerprints all over it. I’m out of town for a couple of weeks and she catches Derrick while he’s lonely and desperate and throws one of her pathetic girlfriends at him.”

Bella forgot about her curiosity. Nobody, especially not Derrick’s skinny bitch of girlfriend was going to run her best friend down. Not while she was around to set them straight.

“Didn’t your mama ever tell you every little lie you tell makes you a tiny bit uglier? Even you aren’t pretty enough to tell get away with that kind of lying.”

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Story Essentials – Continued

Recapping as we work our way down the romance editor’s wish list, so far we have:

An opening hookAn appealing, human heroineA hero to fall in love with. He must be human, appealing and honorableAn original story line.Dialogue that singsEmotional roll coaster (highs and lows)Sensuality that steams up the windowsA pace that keeps the reader hookedA setting that feels real but is transparent

An happy ever after that leaves you with an aah

The happy ending is a romance requirement. It is apparent to any one who reads more than couple. A satisfactory resolution is the most sacred of all of the reader’s expectations.

So what is the secret behind the truly satisfying ending? Doubt.

Genuine worry that the conflict between the hero and heroine is unbridgeable makes the final resolution more fearfully anticipated, therefore much more poignant and more cherished. Of course, the reader must be invested in your characters for them to fuss about their resolution or to exult in the final dissolution of the inner conflict.

Monday, October 23, 2006

Writing life

Seduced by a new story. Starting new stories is undeniably fun. Lots more fun than editing or worse revising (deep editing for the Margie Lawson fans) an old one.

I'll tell you what happened this time. A writer friend and I talked about NaNoWriMo (a book in a month movement for procrastinators - the official kick off is November 1st). Talking about our story ideas made the new story fever grow hotter.

Saturday, October 21, 2006

Sample Saturday- Chapter One

Man is the head of the woman. Only man is the image and glory of God.

Bella Williams folded and unfolded the already worn note, until she caught herself and forced her fingers still. She’d hastily palmed the cheap white paper note when she’d spied it in her bridesmaid bouquet. After reading it once, the biblical words wouldn’t leave her mind. They echoed shaking loose new fears with every repetition.

It was the second such note she’d found in a week. The first one had been left on her windshield while she was at work.

She chided herself for getting jumpy over a quote from Corinthians.

The notes qualified as strange – but threatening? Threatening was a stretch. She tried to dismiss them as nothing more than a bazaar form of proselytizing. She was getting paranoid and silly – spooked by printed words. Sticks, stones, and all that jazz. Stupid, she would not let a piece of paper turn her into a coward.

She sucked in her stomach tightening the muscles the way Nana taught her for better posture concentrating on the wedding ceremony.

From where she stood on Merci’s left, the glass wall acted as a frame for the woods behind the church. The majesty of the forest, backlit by summer twilight, added nature’s approval to the holy union of man and wife.

Reverend Tom’s red hair clashed horribly with the burgundy robe he wore over his cassock. But his voice was strong, as if given extra power by the beauty of the words he intoned.

“The union of husband and wife in heart, body, and mind is intended by God for their mutual joy . . .”

After the couple had declared their readiness to exchange vows, Bella stepped forward taking custody of the bridal bouquet.

Merci’s face was so radiant – Bella’s worries crept into the recesses of her mind. As the tender vows continued, a bittersweet yearning grew in her heart.

She didn’t want to ruin the professional makeup Merci had insisted on. She blinked fast to keep tears from spilling. As the-maid-of-honor, it was her job to keep it together. She would not spoil this moment for her best friend.

Her attention riveted on the newlyweds. Rod leaned closer in slow motion, pressing Merci’s mouth with his. From where Bella stood, the kiss felt respectful, loving and certain. She sighed.Merci’s perfect white satin dress, the perfect church and, of course, the perfect groom were wonderful and exactly as Merci deserved. Poignant feelings Bella didn’t want to examine brimmed making her blink away more tears.

To regain her composure, she scanned the church for a distraction. She homed in on Derrick Jameson. He was an easy target. Taller than everyone present, he naturally drew her eye. But it was more than his height that held her attention. He embodied the lure of the forbidden with way more than his rightful share of masculine appeal.

His gaze locked with hers. His smoldered with sexual energy.

A traitorous corner of her heart wished she were the kind of woman who would enchant him.

After too long, she looked away from those dark eyes.

Bella was too sensible to flirt with a known player, or so she told herself. He must have a mile long trail of discarded women, or so she told herself. He was a distraction from the emotional moment threatening to overwhelm her, or so she told herself.

She dared another glance. His eyes issued a challenge searing every nerve from her head clear down to her toes. She tensed. She knew his kind. A predator. She didn’t blame him for the blatant invitation he couldn’t help his natural instincts.

A lust devil must have possessed her. She’d been flirting. She looked right for the part he was casting. She’d inherited her mother’s striking coloring and voluptuous figure. Normally she dressed carefully to counteract the false impression of sensuality. Tonight she wore the bride’s fashion choices. Tonight a wild reckless possessed her. Tonight she courted danger.

Maybe it was the dress. Merci had chosen a dress of pure simplicity. A little nothing slip of peach silk that clung to every curve with a soft draping neckline that gave a man hope. If seduction were the goal, it would’ve been perfect. Underneath it all, a barely there bra and matching thong made her ample shape appear better than reality.

The clothes weren’t the problem. The lust devil, who’d possessed her wasn’t the problem. The warm fizzles spreading through her body – those were a problem.

Bella pictured Derrick undoing her lingerie, his big hands sure and skillful, knowing just where to touch to give pleasure. Heat streaked up from her breasts singeing her cheeks. Perspiration dampened her neck. Bella stared at her flowers to avoid staring at Derrick. He wasn’t even handsome. Attractive, very attractive, in a hard-edged way. He wore wicked masculine appeal like a signature scent. He was compelling, if a woman went in for tall dark and dangerous.

She didn’t. Shouldn’t – not if she had half the sense God gave her.

Derrick had said nothing to her than “How do you do” and “Pleased to meet you” and even then, he had sounded completely bored. Here she was creating a whole seduction fantasy around a hot look. All right, a couple of hot looks. But they meant nothing. For all she knew he was near sighted.

He deserved to star in some woman’s fantasy, but not hers. She wasn’t a fantasy kind of girl, or so she’d thought. She never pictured men naked. The ease with which she imagined him naked shook everything she’d believed about herself.

A new worry, that she’d inherited more from her mother than coloring, tightened the corners of her mouth. Maybe she shared her mother’s weakness for men. Fresh licks of fire turned up the heat on her face, neck and breasts.

Derrick watched Bella’s cheeks get redder and raised a brow in silent speculation. What was she thinking? Could she read his mind? Not likely. If she knew his thoughts, she’d be running as fast as those endless legs could carry her.

He was famous for his unreadable face. He was confident none of the erotic images he hadn’t been able to stop from playing in his mind reflected on his features. Doubt prickled, maybe something had leaked. Derrick consciously relaxed his face – irritated at the break in his natural defenses. He’d never had this strong a reaction to a woman. He brought his analytical mind to bear on the problem.

She was pretty, in a doll like way with gold curls escaping from a topknot. Her eyes were an unusual golden brown – whisky eyes. Nice skin, creamy, a great foil for a pretty blush. A killer body, too round to be in style. Lush breasts and curvy hips were exactly what he liked best. Scent was a powerful aphrodisiac and there was no denying she smelled good – a clean fragrance with a hint of something floral. A nice package, beyond nice, spectacular.

None of her attributes explained the strength of his response. He’d dated some amazingly beautiful women. Not one of them had the same impact as Bella with the sweet face and dangerous curves.

Instinctively he knew there was more in play than her appearance. She had an electric undercurrent. A whispered promise of molten pleasure only she embodied. He’d felt it when they’d shook hands and a disproportionate power surge hit nearly sending sent him to his knees.He felt it now, a primal urge to paw the ground, pound his chest and roar his desire. At the same time, everything thing he knew about staying in control was threatened by each breath she took. To become involved with her would be professional and personal suicide.

Plainly, his reaction to Bella was nothing more than an inconvenient response to his self-imposed celibacy. Completely understandable – he hadn’t been with a woman in months.

Tori and he had been heading for a break up before she left for Europe. She was an imaginative and energetic lover. But no amount of originality made up for her mean streak or her drama productions. Breaking up had been an easy choice.

No matter how hard he tried to sell himself on marriage to Tori, it had been a business deal – plain, simple and ugly. Even he wasn’t that cold hearted. He would’ve settled if she’d been likable and that realization left him cold and empty.

He swallowed hard. Pride didn’t go down easy.

He’d worked long and hard to achieve financial security for his family. Accepting a loan from Tori’s father made sense six months ago when he’d believed she was merely arrogant and spoiled. Now more of his future than he wanted to think about rested in her pale hands. Buying his way out of this mess would be costly. Tori liked to win.

His gut tightened protecting his core from threat. Games weren’t his thing. With his family’s future hanging in the balance, playing was close to intolerable. Getting out of the box he was in would take monstrous luck and iron balls.

If it were just him, he’d tear off the dog collar Victoria wanted him to wear in a flat second.

It wasn’t about him.

The reminder of what was at stake grounded him.

Rod caught his attention and waved him closer for the wedding party photos.

Derrick smiled for the camera.

A woman’s laugh teased his ears and lightened his heart. His eyes sought the source of the happy sound and found Bella’s enticing lips curving into an alluring smile. Derrick locked his worries away and his smile grew reckless to match hers. The rest of the wedding photographs clicked by painlessly.

Minutes later the photographer was packing her equipment.

“Thanks for everything bud.” Rod clapped his shoulder.

“It’s been a real pain in the ass, but someone had to do it.” Derrick pulled a sober face. Not that it mattered how he looked or what he said. He figured it would’ve taken a nuclear blast to wipe the happy grin off Rod’s face. Envy nipped at Derrick. But Rod was too good a friend for him to hold resentment for more than a few seconds. He remembered long nights of hanging out when Rod’s happiness was nothing more than wishful thinking. His best friend deserved every moment of joy.

“Can you give Bella a ride to the club? She’s bringing Merci’s suitcase.”

“Sure.” Derrick agreed, determined to acquit every one of his duties as best man, even those requiring him to escort the too tempting Bella.

Rod walked away to claim his bride from a crowd of well-wishers. Derrick waited, while Bella stepped back from a bevy of excited women moving forward – jostling for advantage as Merci tossed her bouquet.

Bella must’ve felt him watching her. When their eyes met and locked. Derrick fought to remember his priorities.

“Don’t be –” Silly, Derrick finished silently. His mother raised him right. There was no way he’d let any woman struggle with heavy suitcases. Bella’s assumption that he would rankled. Following her satin covered bottom, drained his resentment, but led to worse problems.

Dresses like that should be illegal.

“It’d make me feel good to help.” Derrick mentioned with admirable tact.

“Okay, hold this.” Bella thrust her bouquet at him.

A lecture on letting others help was ready to leap off his tongue, when a square of folded paper fell from her open hand. Derrick snagged the creased note. He offered her the scrap back.Bella shrank away from him. Her eyes wild in a paling face.

Derrick moved toward her without thinking, wanting to protect. The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs stopped him cold.

“Hello there. I thought everyone had left.” Reverend Tom held out a hand, breathing heavy.Derrick slipped the note into his pants pocket before clasping the Reverend strong hand. He held his own through a harder than expected test of manliness as they shook.

The Reverend trailed a musty air, like a stack of old hymnals. He still had on the same clerical robe and white collar he’d worn for the wedding ceremony. The outfit was faintly scholarly, as if he were an honoree at a graduation ceremony. Rather than a mortarboard, the reverend sported a full head of springy red hair. Built like a linebacker and, at first glance young enough to play the game. A closer inspection showed white sprinkled among the red hairs and squint lines too deep for youth.

“Derrick Jameson, right? Never forget a name or a face. Lovely service wasn’t it? Just lovely. Such a nice couple. I don’t know the groom like I do our own sweet Mercedes, but he seems a sound young man. Right Isabella?”

“You don’t have to worry Reverend. He’s the perfect man for Merci.”

“He’s a great guy.” Derrick added his assurance to Bella’s.

“Good to hear. Though I thought as much.” Reverend Tom bobbed his head sagely.

“I’ll let you get on with it then. Mustn’t let anything interfere with the honeymoon.” Reverend Tom gave a dry laugh as he lumbered away.

“These?” Derrick angled his head toward the three cherry decorated bags neatly parked in front of an old-fashioned freestanding mirror.

“Yes.” Bella darted in front of him grappling with the largest.

“Here,” he handed her back her flowers. “Let’s trade.”

“Okay.” Bella muttered taking back her bouquet and picking up the smallest of the three cases.

Derrick followed Bella outside. After placing the suitcases in the back of his truck, he ran around and opened the passenger door.

Bella glanced at the truck and back to him. Doubt etched her pretty face.

Derrick felt heat snaking up the back of his neck. The truck wasn’t his idea of a great ride either. It was what he had. It was clean and ran good. He’d seen to that himself.

“Problem?” He raised one eyebrow, daring her to complain.

“I can’t get in.” Bella’s expression implored him to come up with a face saving solution.

Her eyes got him.

Pretty women made him think about things he had no business thinking about. Pretty women dressed in barely legal dresses were even harder to resist. Pretty women with whisky colored eyes and sulky mouths wrote the music. All he could do was dance.

By the time he got her safely seated in the Pickup his smooth demeanor had a major bump. She seemed unruffled. He resisted the urge to smooth her dress. His hands itched to touch her, but he held out.

He was not cut out for noble resistance.

The smartest thing for him to do was bite the bullet and marry Tori. That’d cure his troubles, give him a new set of problems, and cut down on temptation.

Derrick figured life with Tori would include a lot of parties where all the women looked like her. Well groomed, toned, slender and sleek the way rich women were. The effect was supposed to be subtle, but screamed money.

He took his time, walking around the back of the truck and double-checking the luggage was still there. He got out bungee cords and secured the cases. Fishing for his keys, his fingers brushed the folded note.

Simple curiosity made him open it. Man is the head of the woman. Only man is the image and glory of God.

Weird. She didn’t look like the kind of woman who clutched bible verses. But what did he know? She was a Sunday school teacher.

Derrick climbed into the truck. “Here’s your note.”

The hand Bella extended trembled.

“It’s yours, right?”

“I don’t know.” Bella cupped her elbow as if arm needed extra support for the task.

“Come again?”

“I guess it’s mine. I mean – I think it was meant for me. The note was stuck in my bouquet.” She paused, doing a small shudder shimmy thing that damn near made him forget the question. “The other one, the first note, was on my windshield at work. That has to mean they’re for me. Doesn’t it? Silly question.” Bella laughed unconvincingly. “Of course, the notes are meant for me.”

Her whisky colored eyes clouded with doubts and fears making him want to puff up and play champion to her maiden in distress.

Tori played these kinds of games and he hated them. Somehow, he didn’t think Bella was pretending and that made all the difference.

“What did the other one say?”

“Who can find a virtuous woman?” Bella gave a half-sob laugh. “I am being silly. I keep telling myself there’s no harm in words –” She shook her head staring at the paper in her open hand. “How could someone put a note in my bouquet? Why would they want to?”

“You’re probably right.” She agreed with a cheerful smile. The clouds didn’t leave her pretty eyes. “Shouldn’t we get going?”

“Yeah.” He pushed the key in the ignition. Glancing at her as he automatically checked behind them.

She opened her purse, dropping in the note and pulling a hankie. She used it to dab at her eyes. The hankie went back. Out came a fancy little mirror. Bella studied her face with a small furrow between her brows.

“Darn, the lash line is smudged.”

He had no idea what that meant, but it didn’t sound good.

Licking her ring finger, she patted delicately under her eyes until she was satisfied with the effect. The mirror disappeared back inside the small sparkly purse. Everything she did was fresh, feminine, fascinating.

A blur of motion snagged his attention. A large man, dressed in camouflage, disappeared into the woods behind the church. The hairs on Derrick’s nape jumped to code yellow, changing the level of threat.

The sound of the truck rumbling to life jerked his head.

Lord protect me!

Instantly, calm settled like an invisible cloak over his shoulders. He had nothing to fear. He was God’s anointed servant carrying the word to those who needed it. And the word was salvation and life everlasting.

The Almighty’s mercy did not exonerate his servants from diligence in the performance of their duties. He halted, rotating his torso enough to scan the parking lot. The pickup loitered, its occupants shrunk to silhouettes.

He narrowed his eyes marginally reassured by the space between them.

His angel’s face turned toward the church.

Gratifying warmth spread through his chest. He prayed for strength to resist temptation of the flesh and for perfect obedience to God’s will.

The sinner scanned the woods. For a second the sinner seemed to look straight at him. The sinner’s gaze held power.

He prayed for more strength and courage to carry out the Almighty’s mission. The sinner’s gaze passed over him. Proof that his prayers were heard and answered.

He hung his head in humility. How could he doubt the will of his lord? Had not God led him to this destiny by a hundred acts, which left no room for doubt? Had not God spared his life, bringing him back from death, so that he could be the Almighty’s arm of perfect vengeance? Had not God handpicked him for this mission?

“You are safe my son.” The words formed in his head in the rich reverberating voice he knew was God.

He tilted his head toward the heavens his arms spread waiting for God’s will to be shown to him. His whole body tingled with health and power. His penis engorged.

“This too is my will. Soon you will be rewarded for your service with pleasure beyond your dreams. For now spill your seed on the ground my son and know that every part of you is blessed and sacred.”

The anointed servant followed God’s commandment. He stroked himself lovingly. As always, God filled him with the vision. His Angel.

“How well do you know the Reverend?” Derrick asked.

“Reverend Tom? He’s been here for years. Poor man, he’s still considered the new Reverend and constantly compared to his predecessor He’s a little awkward away from his pulpit, but you’ll never find a nicer man.”

A glance showed him the back of Bella’s head, her face turned away from him and toward the passenger window. She hadn’t sounded sarcastic. Nice would not have made his list of adjectives for the Reverend.

After a few seconds, she continued without further prodding. “When he first came he got a cool reception. Nana said if she were too friendly to Reverend Tom, it’d feel disloyal to Reverend Jack. Lots of folks seemed to feel the same way. I felt sorry for him. I know what it’s like being the newcomer. I tried to be extra nice helping out with Sunday school and choir practice.”

“You sing?” He wasn’t touching the Sunday school line.

“Not well.” Bella laughed and he didn’t believe her. Her laughter was music.

“I play the organ. Not as well as Mildred, the organist today. But Mildred takes care of her mother and choir practice is Thursday evenings, it’s hard for her to get away. . .”

Bella babbled on. Nervous.

Derrick added up the pieces – the notes, her tension, the furtive figure behind the church. He didn’t like where this was going. His sweet Sunday school teacher, who looked like an advertisement for sin, had a stalker.

Derrick was nothing like the player she’d imagined. He managed to boost her into the pickup without making her feel clumsy or heavy. He hadn’t panted, patted or pinched. He actually met her eyes when they talked. He even listened to what she said, which had been way too much. The notes had spooked her, especially the second one. When she started talking to Derrick all her worries tumbled out. She’d been talking the poor man’s ears right off. He must think she was a walking trouble magnet.

While he drove the old truck with quiet efficiency, Bella sought for a safe topic of conversation. A good measure of her distress was how long it took her to hit one – work. Jobs were always good. Everyone liked to talk about what he did for a living.

“Merci told me that you’re in construction?”

“Uh huh.”

Great, now he’d regressed to monosyllables. He definitely thought she was trouble and was trying to distance himself. What had possessed her to babble on about the notes?

“Renovations? Is that like restoration? My dream shop is an old crumbling wreck on First Avenue. Restoration is what it needs. Is that the kind of thing your company does?”

“Yeah. About those notes –”

“Forget about the notes. A religious nut, like you said. I overreacted. I do that. A lot. I babble on when I’m nervous too.” She tugged on a chagrined smile.

“The notes made you nervous?”

“No, I didn’t mean –”

“I make you nervous?”

“No. Of course not.” She answered too fast to be convincing. Peeking at him from under her lashes. She checked to see if he bought it.

He was brooding, about her notes. Something deep inside warmed. She dropped subtlety, gazing at him openly. Her mouth curved into an involuntary smile. Derrick was smart and caring and sexy. He was a dangerous man.

She had no business noticing how sexy he was. He wasn’t for her.

But if she kept her head on straight, where was the harm on forgetting her troubles and enjoying his company for a few hours?

Bella made a third effort to turn the conversation back to safe subjects.

“I found a wonderful space for the shop, perfect actually. The only problem is layers of crud covering my dream store.”

“The first note, the virtuous woman thing – that was this past Monday?”

She nodded, and then realized he hadn't seen the gesture.

“Yes.” Darn, he wasn’t letting this go.

Truth was, he did make her nervous, or maybe it was that he made her realize how unsure she was about herself. A restless, itchy feeling infiltrated her body. Every moment spent with him worsened her malady.

He should scare her. He was large, aggressive, bristling with maleness. Yet, something in him pulled at her core whispering insane promises of pleasure and safety.

Before she found her common sense, Derrick pulled into the Emerald City and Country Club parking lot.

Bella opened her door.

“Hold on and I’ll help you down.”

“Of course, thank you.” Why did everything he said make her blush?

A quick look through her lashes showed Derrick scouting the area. “What are you looking for?”

“Nothing.”

Turning, he met her eyes. Lifting her down with impressive ease. His mouth quirked and his smile flashed quick and disarming, like a magician’s trick, it surprised and delighted. She leaned forward anticipating the next stroke of stunning joy.

“Do you know where I’m supposed to stow the bags?”

“Follow me.” Bella hurried toward the getaway car then recalled her manners and glanced back over her shoulder. “Please.”

He muttered something that sounded like anywhere.

She ignored her over active imagination and led the way to Rod’s SUV, parked cautiously next to the parking attendant’s booth. The booth’s occupant trudged toward them.

“Name?” Righteous dignity rang in the boy’s tone in spite of a slight squeak. He was all ears, knobby parts and uncertain manhood jangling along in a lanky frame.

“Jameson.” Derrick said.

“That’s good then.” The attendant bobbed his head and slunk back into his booth.

Was she any different? Derrick slipped inside her defenses disarming her without a struggle. She should step away. Create distance. Safety. Instead she pressed into the strong hand spanning her back.

When Derrick held the door for her the band’s Can You Feel The Love Tonight? spilled out. The music added another layer of seduction to the head spinning sensations from being so close to Derrick. The details of the room blurred to a peripheralawareness. He guided her effortlessly through the crowd and onto the dance floor. They joined other couples already moving to the music. All organized thoughts fled. They were the only two people in the world. He held her firmly, yet gently. His legs brushed hers as they moved together as one entity.

His hard chest was so close, her view was limited to his earlobe and dark curls touching his collar. She wanted to touch his hair. She felt the hard length of him on her belly.

Bella held her breath, waiting for the mind chilling panic to hit. It didn’t happen. After long minutes she let out her breath leak out slowly. All she felt was embarrassment and secret pride he found her desirable. No fear. None.

Negligible dismay rippled past, another one of her stalwart barriers breeched with hardly a ripple. He had a magnetic pull that whirled her into his orbit. She spun with giddy delight letting reckless pleasure rule. Her blood fizzled as if she’d been guzzling champagne.

The music, swept her into wicked lassitude.The dance became an erotic prelude. Bella trembled with fear or anticipation – perhaps both. One song blended into another. Sensations overwhelmed her erasing caution. Every atom of her being tingled with life. Her awareness narrowed to the moment, the magic and Derrick.

He stopped moving.

Her eyes flickered to his face.

“The band’s taking a break. Walk with me.”

Bella nodded as if agreeing to another dance. She strolled with him in a leisurely drift into the long twilight. Kelly Clarkson’s A Moment Like This carried over the laughter and the rise and fall of voices floating through the dusky summer evening.

The wedding reception swirled on a few steps away. Derrick stopped abruptly and Bella stumbled. His strong arms wrapped around her saving her from a fall. The same arms gathered her close. He lowered his head aligning their lips. His kiss was as natural as her next breath. It stayed maddeningly soft and gentle when what she wanted was ravishing. She waited. Her lips buzzed with anticipation. He toyed with her brushing his mouth over hers. Her lips parted on a sigh. His tongue stole inside and the kiss segued into virgin territory.

Too soon, he pulled away from her.

“We’d better head back.” His breaths came fast, making the words harsh. “I’m supposed to make a toast. Best man stuff.”

Had she made him nervous? The idea pleased her way more than it should.

“You’re right.” She searched his eyes for clues as to what he meant.

Incongruously, and in spite of his size and his harsh breathing, Derrick made her feel safe. That was the most dangerous thing about him. She trembled from her disconcerting reaction to him. She wanted his touch, wanted to touch him, wanted to be so close to him they melted together. The unexpected response squeezed her middle tighter than a pair of too small panty hose making it hard to draw a decent breath.Melting into a puddle of lust had been her secret fear for so long, it took her a few moments to catch on to the source of her uneasiness. Becoming a fallen woman was a family legacy – her destiny.

Nana had passed herself off as a widow. A respectable explanation for a missing husband. Connie, her mother had been a fool for men. She never bothered with even a nod to respectability. When her lovers started noticing Bella, she’d shipped her off to live with Nana.

Bella never told Connie her protective measures came too late.

Nana begged her to promise the wild Williams women label would end with her. She never found the right way to tell Nana she wasn’t a virtuous woman. She worked hard to be respectable, to make something of herself. No man was worth throwing away Nana’s dream.

Nana would be proud of her, as long as she managed to stay respectable. Actually, Nana glued her hope on virtuous. Bella clenched and unclenched helpless fists.She could change her destiny. Virtue wasn’t an option, but she would not roll over and play sex toy.

INSTRUCTOR BIO:Margie Lawson holds a Master of Science degree in Counseling Psychology with a two-year concentration beyond her master's degree, specializing in psychiatric counseling and nonverbal communication. Her resume includes college professor, clinical trainer, sex therapist, Director of an Impotence Clinic, hypnotherapist and keynote speaker.

Margie merges her two worlds, psychology and writing, by analyzing writing craft as well as the psyche of the writer. She developed new psychologically-anchored editing systems and techniques which hook the reader viscerally. A frequent speaker at writing conferences, Margie also presents 1) Empowering Characters' Emotions, 2) Deep Editing: Rhetorical Devices, The EDITS System and More, and 3) Defeat Self-Defeating Behaviors in high-energy one and two-day workshops to writing organizations nationally.

To register for the November course, go to www.WritersOnlineClasses.com OR email info@WritersOnlineClasses.com

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Writing Craft

Recapping as we work our way down the romance editor’s wish list, so far we have:

An opening hookAn appealing, human heroineA hero to fall in love with. He must be human, appealing and honorableAn original story line.Dialogue that singsEmotional roll coaster (highs and lows)Sensuality that steams up the windowsA pace that keeps the reader hooked

A setting that feels real but is transparent.

Setting is more that which City serves as a backdrop for your story. Setting can be as simple as letting the reader know that your heroine stomped off to the bathroom. Setting keeps the story world real and anchors the characters so they are more than talking heads.

Setting is the third leg of the fiction stool – characterization and plot holding up the other two thirds of the story. Setting adds mood, grounding and weight to your story. Long passages of description aren’t necessary, but concrete details anchor the action allowing the story to unfold seamlessly.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Reading report

Multiple reads this week

Flowers From the Storm by Laura Kinsale

Five stars – A memorable historical romance with wonderful character development and maybe two twists too many, but that’s a quibble when the romance is poignant and best of all not a sure thing. If you haven’t read it go get it and be swept away.

The Devil Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger

Three stars – Working girl takes on the fashion publication business with unexpected results. Full of gossipy insider details – a few too thousand for this unsophisticated reader there are no false notes and the protagonist is delightfully human and flawed.

Monday, October 16, 2006

Writing Life

I’m thinking about the advantages and disadvantages of the romance community. Made up largely of women, it is for the most part a nurturing environment. Or at least it seems to be. The aversion to frank criticism is so strong that you have to read between the lines to evaluate any precious feedback.

I’ve heard tales of cruel judges’ comments or scathing critiques. But I haven’t experienced them. I’ve participated in three different critique groups with mixed results. I’ve met some amazing and generous women who’ve shared lots of hard won information on how to write.

Hard as it would be to hear my precious prose is purple or boring or simply the wrong tone – I think candid evaluation would be more useful than well-menaing kindness. I’ve read some mind numbingly bad chapters and have usually avoided commenting on them altogether. Raised on the axiom – if you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say anything – I’ve chosen to critique only those who had elements I could praise.

Recently, I served as a judge. One of the comment categories – two things you especially liked about the manuscript illustrates my concern that too much kindness has the opposite effect.

Saturday, October 14, 2006

Sample Saturday continued

For those just joining the story the beginning may be found two Saturdays ago . . .“How well do you know the Reverend?” Derrick asked.

“Reverend Tom? He’s been here for years. Poor man, he’s still considered the new Reverend and constantly compared to his predecessor He’s a little awkward away from his pulpit, but you’ll never find a nicer man.”

A glance showed him the back of Bella’s head, her face turned away from him and toward the passenger window. She hadn’t sounded sarcastic. Nice would not have made his list of adjectives for the Reverend.

After a few seconds, she continued without further prodding. “When he first came he got a cool reception. Nana said if she were too friendly to Reverend Tom, it’d feel disloyal to Reverend Jack. Lots of folks seemed to feel the same way. I felt sorry for him. I know what it’s like being the newcomer. I tried to be extra nice helping out with Sunday school and choir practice.”

“You sing?” He wasn’t touching the Sunday school line.

“Not well.” Bella laughed and he didn’t believe her. Her laughter was music.

“I play the organ. Not as well as Mildred, the organist today. But Mildred takes care of her mother and choir practice is Thursday evenings, it’s hard for her to get away. . .”

Bella babbled on. Nervous.

Derrick added up the pieces – the notes, her tension, the furtive figure behind the church. He didn’t like where this was going. His sweet Sunday school teacher, who looked like an advertisement for sin, had a stalker.

Derrick was nothing like the player she’d imagined. He managed to boost her into the pickup without making her feel clumsy or heavy. He hadn’t panted, patted or pinched. He actually met her eyes when they talked. He even listened to what she said, which had been way too much. The notes had spooked her, especially the second one. When she started talking to Derrick all her worries tumbled out. She’d been talking the poor man’s ears right off. He must think she was a walking trouble magnet.

While he drove the old truck with quiet efficiency, Bella sought for a safe topic of conversation. A good measure of her distress was how long it took her to hit one - work. Jobs were always good. Everyone liked to talk about what he did for a living.

“Merci told me that you’re in construction?”

“Uh huh.”

Great, now he’d regressed to monosyllables. He definitely thought she was trouble and was trying to distance himself. What had possessed her to babble on about the notes?

“Renovations? I’ve just signed a lease on old crumbling wreck of a shop on First Avenue. Restoration is what it needs. Is that the kind of thing your company does?”

“Yeah. About those notes –”

“Forget about the notes. A religious nut, like you said. I overreacted. I do that. A lot. I babble on when I’m nervous too.” She tugged on a chagrined smile.

“The notes made you nervous?”

“No, I didn’t mean –”

“I make you nervous?”

“No. Of course not.” She answered too fast to be convincing. Peeking at him from under her lashes. She checked to see if he bought it.

He was brooding, about her notes. Something deep inside warmed. She dropped subtlety, gazing at him openly. Her mouth curved into an involuntary smile. Derrick was smart and caring and sexy. He was a dangerous man.

She had no business noticing how sexy he was. He wasn’t for her.

But if she kept her head on straight, where was the harm on forgetting her troubles and enjoying his company for a few hours?

Bella made a third effort to turn the conversation back to safe subjects.

“I found a wonderful space for the shop, perfect actually. The only problem is layers of crud covering my dream store.”

“The first note, the virtuous woman thing – that was this past Monday?”

She nodded, and then realized he couldn’t see the gesture.

“Yes.” Darn, he wasn’t letting this go.

Truth was, he did make her nervous, or maybe it was that he made her realize how unsure she was about herself. A restless, itchy feeling infiltrated her body. Every moment spent with him worsened her malady.

He should scare her. He was large, aggressive, bristling with maleness. Yet, something in him pulled at her core whispering insane promises of pleasure and safety.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Buzzless

It is surely obvious to all regular readers I'm buried under lecture notes, an unruly WIP and a deep deep deep editing project. In short - no buzz. No market report. No clue.I'll be back on Saturday with another installment.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Writing Craft - Pacing

Story Essentials – Continued

Recapping as we work our way down the romance editor’s wish list, so far we have:

An opening hookAn appealing, human heroineA hero to fall in love with. He must be human, appealing and honorableAn original story line.Dialogue that singsEmotional roll coaster (highs and lows)Sensuality that steams up the windows

A pace that keeps the reader hooked

Pacing is what keeps your reader turning pages. Pacing is why you don’t start your book with your heroine waking up and end your chapters with her drifting off to sleep. The ticking clock on a hidden bomb is an illustration of fast pacing. Watch any action movie you’ll see fast pacing in action.

There are subtler forms of tension. I’m reading a historical romance that is difficult to set down. There are no timers on explosives around – the nearest thing to time pressure is six months away. Ho hum? Hardly. The Hero has yet to realize the heroine is the one he’s about to marry the wrong woman and he must impregnate said wrong woman as fast as possible so there’s no doubt as to her condition prior to the six month deadline.

Though this is a romance with the happy ending guaranteed this is a previously unread author. Is her idea of happy ending acceptable? The story opened with hero in bed with married woman, definitely not the heroine. Can this author be trusted?

The unanswered question, the doubt raised that’s tension too. That pulls the reader forward for one more page long after she should be asleep. What happens next? Will this couple fall in love? Will they overcome the obstacles to their happiness? You want reminders of your core conflict on every page, you want to turn up the tension and then you want to release it gradually until there’s nothing left except a sigh of satisfaction.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Reading report - A Reason To Live

Three stars (out of five) Maureen McKade has penned a surprising historical. IMHO The external problems are more compelling than the romance. This is very much the heroine's story, though the hero is fully realized and the secondary characters handled deftly. The period is post Civil War.

Monday, October 09, 2006

Writing Life

One of the attractions of writing as a career was the perpetual student status I knew would be attached to the journey. This fall I may have overdone it signing up for a total of five classes. Three down and two to go. Pant, pant. Note to self - one class a month is plenty.

Saturday, October 07, 2006

Sample Saturday

For those just joining the story the beginning can be read in last Saturday's post . . .

He took his time, walking around the back of the truck and double-checking the luggage was still there. He got out bungee cords and secured the cases. Fishing for his keys, his fingers brushed the folded note.

Simple curiosity made him open it. Man is the head of the woman. Only man is the image and glory of God.

Weird. She didn’t look like the kind of woman who clutched bible verses. But what did he know? She was a Sunday school teacher.

Derrick climbed into the truck. “Here’s your note.”

The hand Bella extended trembled.

“It’s yours, right?”

“I don’t know.” Bella cupped her elbow as if arm needed extra support for the task.

“Come again?”

“I guess it’s mine. I mean – I think it was meant for me. The note was stuck in my bouquet.”She paused, doing a small shudder shimmy thing that damn near made him forget the question.

“The other one, the first note, was on my windshield at work. That has to mean they’re for me. Doesn’t it? Silly question.” Bella laughed unconvincingly. “Of course, the notes are meant for me.”

Her whisky colored eyes clouded with doubts and fears making him want to puff up and play champion to her maiden in distress.

Nora played these kinds of games and he hated them. Somehow, he didn’t think Bella was pretending and that made all the difference.

“What did the other one say?”

“Who can find a virtuous woman?” Bella gave a half-sob laugh. “I am being silly. I keep telling myself there’s no harm in words –” She shook her head staring at the paper in her open hand. “How could someone put a note in my bouquet? Why would they want to?”

“You’re probably right.” She agreed with a cheerful smile. The clouds didn’t leave her pretty eyes. “Shouldn’t we get going?”

“Yeah.” He pushed the key in the ignition. Glancing at her as he automatically checked behind them.

She opened her purse, dropping in the note and pulling a hankie. She used it to dab at her eyes. The hankie went back. Out came a fancy little mirror. Bella studied her face with a small furrow between her brows.

“Darn, the lash line is smudged.”

He had no idea what that meant, but it didn’t sound good.

Licking her ring finger, she patted delicately under her eyes until she was satisfied with the effect. The mirror disappeared back inside the small sparkly purse. Everything she did was fresh, feminine, fascinating.

A blur of motion snagged his attention. A large man, dressed in camouflage, disappeared into the woods behind the church. The hairs on Derrick’s nape jumped to code yellow, changing the level of threat.

The sound of the truck rumbling to life jerked his head.

Lord protect me!

Instantly, calm settled like an invisible cloak over his shoulders. He had nothing to fear. He was God’s anointed servant carrying the word to those who needed it. And the word was salvation and life everlasting.

The Almighty’s mercy did not exonerate his servants from diligence in the performance of their duties. He halted, rotating his torso enough to scan the parking lot. The pickup loitered, its occupants shrunk to silhouettes.

He narrowed his eyes marginally reassured by the space between them.

His angel’s face turned toward the church.

Gratifying warmth spread through his chest. He prayed for strength to resist temptation of the flesh and for perfect obedience to God’s will.

The sinner scanned the woods. For a second the sinner seemed to look straight at him. The sinner’s gaze held power.

He prayed for more strength and courage to carry out the Almighty’s mission. The sinner’s gaze passed over him. Proof that his prayers were heard and answered.

He hung his head in humility. How could he doubt the will of his lord? Had not God led him to this destiny by a hundred acts, which left no room for doubt? Had not God spared his life, bringing him back from death, so that he could be the Almighty’s arm of perfect vengeance? Had not God handpicked him for this mission?

“You are safe my son.” The words formed in his head in the rich reverberating voice he knew as God.

He tilted his head toward the heavens his arms spread waiting for God’s will to be shown to him. His whole body tingled with health and power. His penis engorged.

“This too is my will. Soon you will be rewarded for your service with pleasure beyond your dreams. For now spill your seed on the ground my son and know that every part of you is blessed and sacred.”

The anointed servant followed God’s commandment. He stroked himself lovingly. As always, God filled him with the vision. His Angel.

“How well do you know the Reverend?” Derrick asked.

“Reverend Tom? He’s been here for years. Poor man, he’s still considered the new Reverend and constantly compared to his predecessor He’s a little awkward away from his pulpit, but you’ll never find a nicer man.”

A glance showed him the back of Bella’s head, her face turned away from him and toward the passenger window. She hadn’t sounded sarcastic. Nice would not have made his list of adjectives for the Reverend.

After a few seconds, she continued without further prodding. “When he first came he got a cool reception. Nana said if she were too friendly to Reverend Tom, it’d feel disloyal to Reverend Jack. Lots of folks seemed to feel the same way. I felt sorry for him. I know what it’s like being the newcomer. I tried to be extra nice helping out with Sunday school and choir practice.”

“You sing?” He wasn’t touching the Sunday school line.

“Not well.” Bella laughed and he didn’t believe her. Her laughter was music.

“I play the organ. Not as well as Mildred, the organist today. But Mildred takes care of her mother and choir practice is Thursday evenings, it’s hard for her to get away. . .”

Bella babbled on. Nervous.

Derrick added up the pieces – the notes, her tension, the furtive figure behind the church. He didn’t like where this was going. His sweet Sunday school teacher, who looked like an advertisement for sin, had a stalker.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Writing Craft

Recapping as we work our way down the romance editor’s wish list, so far we have:

An opening hook

An appealing, human heroine

A hero to fall in love with. He must be human, appealing and honorable

An original story line.

Dialogue that sings

Emotional roll coaster (highs and lows)

Sensuality that steams up the windows

All romances need sexual tension. When an editor talks about sensuality that steams up the windows, she wants sexual tension. Tension is another form of conflict. The implied question of will they or wont they? Is there is every romance. Will they fall in love? Will they become intimate? Will they find away to resolves their issues?

For an in depth look at sensuality and what drives sexual tension, take a look at The Complete Idiot’s Guide To Writing Erotic Romance by Alison Kent she has devoted chapter sixteen to writing sexual tension. Quoting from the least you need to know section:

Conversation provides many opportunities for sexual tension, including innuendo, banter and double entendres.

While sexuality is a more physical condition, balancing it with sensuality helps increase the story’s eroticism.

Characters can experience sexual tension both mentally and physically, and their body language is a good indication of their feelings.

Using the five senses will bring your love scenes to life and add an evocative realism to your prose.

Chemistry between two people is conveyed through their sexual, emotional and intellectual attraction.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Reading report

Multiple reads again this week

Key Witness by J.F. Freedman

Two star review – A legal thriller by a non-lawyer and it shows. Note to self: do you really want to make the murder trial scene the climax? Mr. Freedman pens a tome with an astounding number of coincidences and a cast of unsympathetic characters. He sells millions of copies of each release – my humble opinion being only one nay sayer in a sea of admirers. Decide for yourself.

Writing The Breakout Novel Workbook by Donald Maass

Five Star review – Probably over my head, but Maass does his best to keep things understandable with examples from published authors and very short chapters. I’d read lots of recommendations of this book before I bought one. Would it have helped me sooner? An irrelevant question, I have a copy now. The trick is putting all that excellent advice into practice. Lots of great advice. No guarantees of success.

Mephisto Club by Tess Gerritsen

Five start review – Like lots of fans I eagerly await the next Tess Gerritsen release. The combination of Maura and Jane is particularly satisfactory and the latest issue in the series is both rich and chilling. Did Tess read Maass book? I have no idea, but she embeds many of his suggestions – like putting tension on every page. For those new to the series, I recommend starting at the beginning with The Surgeon.

Monday, October 02, 2006

Writing Life

The hardest thing for me to come by in writing is objectivity - that wonderful gift of being able to see my story with fresh eyes. I’ve found two tools that help. The first is time setting a story away for weeks, months or even years allows you to see it much more realistically. The most startling thing is the difference between the story in my head and the story on the page.

The story I know so well is a wonderful tale - full of passion, excitement, thrilling suspense and unforgettable characters. The actual manuscript? Bleh. There’s too much everyday business and irrelevant detail and too little emotion. The suspense element is totally missing from the first half of the manuscript.

The second objectivity enhancing tool is the color coding system. Taking a handful of highlighters you color your manuscript, blue for dialogue, pink for emotion and so on. To learn more about this sign up for Margie Lawson’s deep editing class. Information about her workshops is available here: www.margielawson.com